


love by mistake

by lazybug



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Punk, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mutual Pining, but the one you hoped for, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-06-03 00:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazybug/pseuds/lazybug
Summary: A modern setting college au where Rhett is an alternative indie/rock/punk guy and Link, AKA Mr. Hot Pink Polo is a frat douche who continuously flirts with him at parties.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song comes from "love by mistake" by bad suns, which is essentially what this entire story is so here we go

Rhett wasn’t even sure why he came to the party, but Stevie had insisted that the frat guys wanted them there. As in they wanted Chase and Mike and Stevie there, and Rhett just happened to be in the friend group. Still, he’d probably walk to the ends of the earth to make his friends happy, so he threw on an old band shirt, fluffed up his hair a little, threw on his chucks, and on he went.

By the time they walked across campus, it was already getting pretty late. The guys let them in no problem, one of them (Josh? Was that his name?) even giving Rhett a pat on the back as he passed. The party seemed to be in full swing. It was no doubt the first rager of the year, now that everyone was back to campus.

Rhett took his time getting acquainted with the alcohol, looking over everything in the coolers before picking a beer at random. If it tasted like shit, he could just pawn it off on one of his friends. Except when he went to pop the cap off, some jackass already had his hand around the neck of the bottle.

“Trust me, you don’t want that one,” Mr. Hot Pink Polo said. Rhett was taken aback, and honestly kind of insulted. Mr. Hot Pink Polo did not let go of the bottle. So, Rhett tugged on it just to see that sharp smile fall off of his face.

Rhett could feel the tension and he did not like it. He didn’t like the way Mr. Hot Pink Polo stood with his hip cocked or that his breath smelled fruity and sweet like he’d eaten an orange and not chugged ten beers in an hour. He looked like a recruit, about his age, his dark hair just a little bit too long as the waves in his bangs fell in his face. Rhett thought it would look better pushed back, just a tad.

He looked like trouble and a complete ass with the way his polo clung to his shoulders and his chest hair peeked out from the top. And don’t even get Rhett started on the color. It hurt his eyes. And his canines looked like they could rip into anything, sharp and dangerous. Good thing he didn’t have a thing for teeth or else he would be all over this…guy whose eyes were very bright and kind even if his posture suggested otherwise.

Mr. Hot Pink Polo, MHPP for short, had a full on toothy smirk stuck on his face now, like he accepted a challenge that Rhett didn’t know he was offering. MHPP’s eyes raked up and down Rhett’s tall frame as he leaned back against the closest item, a fridge. He cocked his head, squinted a little, and shot Rhett a closed-lip smile.

Rhett felt himself tense considerably. He still hasn’t let go of the beer.

“Let me get you a drink,” MHPP said, all confidence, all smooth-talker casual. And Rhett did not feel a thing, except annoyance maybe.

He checked out Rhett again, subtle as a gun. His bottom lip was in between his teeth now, but the corner of his mouth was still tilted up like he was holding in a giggle. If Rhett were a weaker man, he might have given in. But he didn’t deal with this type of guy. No, MHPP was a dime a dozen around here. Even with his long legs and the way his skinny jeans complimented his hips so well.

“Hard pass.” He yanked one more time on the bottle, and Mr. Hot Pink Polo finally let go.

“C’mon, smallpools, I promise I’ll make it worth a Million Bucks.”

Rhett couldn’t help the little noise that came out, startled. He glanced at his shirt and then to MHPP, eyebrows raised. At the cocky expression on his face, Rhett twisted the cap off of his beer and took a big swig.

It was more difficult than he expected to not choke on the horribly acrid taste in his mouth. He hid the look of disgust on his face by walking away, careful to not let the beer bubble out of his nose with his gag.

From behind him, he heard a delighted laugh, followed by a “Told you!”

\-------------

They kept running into each other like that, at the frat house. It’s not like Rhett can just not go out with his friends because of some asshole. He tried to avoid MHPP, he really did. But every time he heard the band on his shirt called out and some reference to a song, and he knew he was doomed. He started accepting MHPP’s drink offers at around the third party they ran into each other (see: MHPP seeking him out at the party with said proffered drink).

They had similar taste, what could Rhett say.

Sometimes it was just a quick conversation: “Oh My Heart, Night Riot, Tear Me Apart” with an exchanged drink of choice, and a quip from Rhett: “Back off, Fangs.”

Or they would both happen to be in a conversation with the same group of friends for most of the night. MHPP would laugh and flirt and generally be a big nuisance. Rhett would ignore him, most of the time. But occasionally their eyes would meet and MHPP would wink conspiratorially and Rhett would have to duck his head to hide the blush that would creep up his neck.

They never really got past that bit, and for good reason. Mr. Hot Pink Polo was clearly a douche. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a playlist of all of the songs that are mentioned in this fic. i will update it as the fic is updated :) https://open.spotify.com/user/8agu9u4nn235bzgvb4ekr2k5e/playlist/61ydG92AOqLqzIWLqtG7NG?si=_SacJDUrSfGwsoBjQsAePQ
> 
> also thanks to mythicalpurgatory on tumblr for supporting me through this random ass idea. follow me on tumblr @ buddeysystem


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, The Strokes, how was Last Nite? I really expected you to Call Me Back.” His voice was practically dripping with alcohol.

Rhett, amused and slightly buzzed already himself, had giggled at that one, but thankfully he wasn’t facing MHPP at that time. He schooled his expression back into a serious one and turned. He said plainly, “You Talk Way Too Much.” He got the start of a smile for that one. But only the start.

Mr. Hot Pink Polo did not look that great, Rhett realized. His shirt was rumpled, his hair was the wrong style of messy, and his face was tinged green. He looked like a mess, to put it short. And it annoyed Rhett to no end that his instinct was to go take care of him.

He’d do it for anyone who looked like that, Rhett tried to convince himself.

Either way, he walked over to MHPP with a (hopefully) placating smile on his face. He stumbled a bit trying to get next to him on the stairs, but he made it relatively unscathed. At least it made Mr. Hot Pink Polo laugh.

They hadn’t truly interacted much other than MHPP’s horrible instigation of flirting or handing him drinks, so Rhett had no idea what to do with himself other than ask him how he was doing. To which, of course, MHPP grinned all goofy, though much softer than normal.

But that might have been Rhett’s alcohol vision talking.

“Better now that you’re here,” he said, punctuating it with a flip of his head only to groan moments later and hold his head in his hands.

Rhett coughed, nodded, “Alright, frat douche. To the bathroom we go.” Said frat douche scrunched his eyebrows and nose up at that, tilting his head to glare at Rhett from his spot on the stairs. Rhett stood and held out his hand for MHPP to take.

“Frat douche?” He took Rhett’s hand anyways. Clammy.

He almost took them both out when he tugged hard enough to pull his own weight up and went stumbling hard into Rhett’s chest. To which MHPP huffed out a laugh and a groan in the same breath. “I’ll let it slide this time, Young the Giant.”

It took Rhett a minute to think about how MHPP was commenting on his height, because he clearly wasn’t wearing that shirt.

He practically carried MHPP to the bathroom, plopped him in front of the toilet and waited for the inevitable. MHPP just sat there, though, looking miserable. He mumbled something that sounded very close to “I’m leak” to which Rhett obviously laughed and replied, “You have to take a leak? Alright, stand up, pretty boy. I think you can do that on your own.”

MHPP rolled his eyes, started to correct him on something, and promptly vomited right into the toilet bowl. Rhett took it as his cue to go.

Only, the sound of retching and the horrible groans of pain coming from MHPP made Rhett begrudgingly on the bathroom floor, kick the door closed, and settle in for the night. He lifted his hand and set it gently on the back of MHPP’s neck, a gentle squeeze hoping for comfort.

When MHPP coughed and retched again, Rhett noticed how far down his hair was falling down into the toilet and potentially into the vomit, so he brushed his fingers through it to hold it back for him. The soft strands nearly came out of his grip when MHPP whipped his head up.

“What are you doing?” he asked, like it wasn’t obvious. Like Rhett didn’t drag his ass up here so he didn’t puke on himself.

Rhett hesitated, extricated his hand from MHPP’s hair. “I—sorry. Helping.” He ran his hand through his own hair instead, suddenly nervous in such a close proximity with no alcohol or escape in sight. He put himself in this situation and now he wasn’t sure how to get out.

MHPP looked so confused—vaguely pleased judging by the start of a smile resting on his lips, but still confused. He nodded a few times and clapped Rhett on the shoulder before nearly yakking again.

Outside in the hallway, someone yelled, “Neal? You in there?” before jiggling the doorknob. At MHPP’s shaky “yeah”, the door opened to reveal Josh, who seemed shocked to see Rhett there on the floor too. “Um,” he said, looking between the two of them as Rhett scrambled to stand and put distance between him and MHPP. Neal, he guessed. “Your turn for the keg stand, if you can handle it.”

Of course, Neal coughed out a laugh, nodded, and smiled into his arm that still rested on the edge of the toilet. His hair was sticking up in weird places and sticking wetly to his forehead at other points. His eyes were glassy and he might have had a bit of spit or vomit at the corner of his lips. “Shit yeah, I am.” He wiped gracelessly at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rhett scoffed. He didn’t mean to; it just sort of came out. Neal looked at him for the first time since Josh came in, his lip slightly curled downward. “What, Strokes? Your Meet Me in the Bathroom not turn out like you planned?”

It felt like a slap to the face, really. He didn’t even think of it in the context of a song. He didn’t think Neal did, either. He hadn’t been the one flirting with him for weeks now. He wasn’t the one feeding him drinks to get him drunk enough to flirt back sometimes. “Jesus, didn’t know Neal was short for frat douche.”

“Your music sucks, by the way!” he heard as he slammed the bathroom door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a Local Natives concert a couple of towns over, so of course Rhett wanted to go. He wanted to drag his friends along, but almost everyone had some excuse or another to not go. Thankfully, Stevie said she would go. So they made the half hour trek in her beat up car, grabbed some food, and stood in line for a couple hours.

It was general admission—the relief of that was unreal. Rhett couldn’t stand when it was assigned and he had to hear everyone behind him complain that they couldn’t see, even when he tried to make himself as small as possible. Stevie, on the other hand, always tried her best to wiggle to the front of the floor, which was entirely fair. Still, he envied her smallness.

He didn’t blame her when she slipped through the crowd with a promise of catching up later. She made him promise that it was fine, like they didn’t do this at nearly every concert at that venue. As he watched her blonde hair disappear into the crowd, he was grateful that he had friends like her that cared enough to make perfectly clear that he was okay with hanging back. She even offered to stay back for a while, too, but he’d never make anyone lose a good view of a band for him.

He didn’t mind listening to the band from the back and leaning against the banister. No one really stood back there so he had plenty of space to relax and enjoy the music on his own accord. People watching was another added bonus, too.

He saw people of all ages (though mostly around his age and a little older) bopping to the music, dancing with friends, laughing and screaming. Their connectedness through music was clear then. He loved to see people hold hands and squeeze when a particular lyric hit home. The bump of the drums echoed in everyone’s hearts and their voices joined with the band in such a sweet symphony that could never be replicated through a camera’s microphone. He’s tried too many times to replicate it only to fail.

Sometimes when a particular song that wasn’t as popular (or brand new), people left to grab drinks at the bar or to sneak away to the bathroom. Most of the time, they went in pairs so they didn’t get separated in the crowd. It was another perk of being in the back, you didn’t have to fight to get back to your friends when you left.

He was caught off guard by a familiar sight when he glanced at the closest figure retreating to the bar. He looked different, though: no bright shirts. He wore a long sleeved white Local Natives shirt with red screen-printed type. He must’ve just bought it because Rhett saw it earlier on the merch table.

It fit him much better than the tight, bright polos he normally wore. His skinny jeans were extra skinny, the ankles rolled. His hair was pushed back and straight with the way it was styled. He wore black Converse, a look he hadn’t seen on MHPP before. Neal. His glasses were a different style too, ones with clear rims. They were surprisingly striking and complimented the shape of his face, amplified the brightness of his blue eyes even in the dark.

If Rhett didn’t see him at every party he’d been to that year, he would’ve thought it was a completely different person. It was truly baffling, and he couldn’t quite look away from the guy before him—well, walking past him. He must’ve been staring because Neal turned towards him with a searching look, like he was trying to see who had been staring at him. Neal blinked.

Blinked again, and tilted his head, calculating.

A bright smile flickered onto his face and he jogged over to Rhett. Actually jogged. He grinned like he was seeing an old friend he hadn’t seen in years. Rhett’s heartbeat kicked up and he pretended it was because a song he really liked came on.

This was an entirely different atmosphere than Rhett had seen Neal in. He slowed as he approached, his arms swinging slightly as his breath puffed out. That smile was still on his face, but it wasn’t plastered on and fake like it was at the parties. Rhett spluttered uselessly and hoped his face was cooperating and smiling back.

“Hey!” he said as he stopped a meager three feet from Rhett. “What are you doing all the way back here?” There was no mocking tone underlying his voice. It was jovial and _excited_.

Rhett was so taken aback. Neal was looking up at him with soft, beautiful, deeply entrancing blue eyes and a thousand-watt smile that he didn’t seem to be even aware that he was flashing. He looked calm and happy and his shirt was big in the elbows and tight across his shoulders. He pushed up the sleeves to expose his forearms and Rhett watched in a weird trance.

He realized he hadn’t spoken yet—his tongue felt too big for his mouth—and the words tumbled out clumsily. “I’m tall.” Solid explanation, a real pat on the back he deserved for that one. He almost smacked himself in the head except that Neal let out a surprised laugh. His shoulders shook with it and now Rhett was back to staring at the wide expanse of his shoulders. Had his shoulders always been that wide? And his waist so tiny?

“Wow, I never noticed,” he countered when Rhett didn’t say anything else. The sarcasm sat on his tongue nicely and Rhett wished he never heard Neal talk any other way than the way he was right now. He was funny and airy and sweet. Nothing like MHPP.

Maybe they were different people.

Rhett chuckled and nodded, scratching the back of his neck in an awkward move, his eyes moving to focus on the stage. He threw an arm out and gestured vaguely to the crowd ahead like Neal would just get it somehow. “I mean I’m too tall and I don’t want to inconvenience anybody by getting in the way. So, I stay back here.”

Link pressed his lips together and nodded in understanding, but he looked slightly frustrated by it. He paused like he was contemplating something, then nodded to himself. “Okay,” he said, and that was it for a minute.

Rhett was about to interrupt him, ask him what he was doing or where he was going, maybe even who he was with, but Neal continued, “I’ll stick back here with you then. See how the other half lives.” Rhett watched as he put both of his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders high, quietly pleased with himself.

He looked shy, Rhett thought; the dark venue lit by the front of the stage exaggerated the pink flush on Neal’s cheeks.

He was so pleased with himself when Neal leaned back against the banister. “Shy, huh, Neal?” He was shouting over the song, pleased that he got to the title before Neal did.

Neal squinted at him, a confused tilt to his head, until he listened harder to the song. “Oh. Yeah. My name’s Link.”

“But everyone calls you Neal?”

“Last name.”

“I’m—”

“Rhett, yeah I know.” He tried to stop a smile there, his lips pushed hard against one another.

Rhett thought about all of the times that Neal—no, Link—had called him by a name other than his own and stuttered to a halt. How did he even know his name? “Wha—"

Link explained further, quieter, “I’m the one that got you on the list at the frat house.” Rhett almost didn’t catch it over the song change in the background. When he finally caught on, he didn’t really know what to say. He knew guys had to be invited, he just always assumed it was Alex because they were friends. It didn’t make sense that Link was the one putting him on the list.

“Hey, you wanna dance?” Link asked, a clear distraction. Already he was moving his hips and raising his arms in a mock-almost-salsa move that confused Rhett to no end. Still, they both laughed, and Link moved closer, his hands moving forward to grab for Rhett’s hips.

Rhett thought it was a joke so he moved backwards until he was flat against the railing at his back. Link didn’t account for that, though, and kept moving forward until he was crowded into Rhett’s space, hands feather light on his hips. He pulled one hip forward in a jerky motion, eyes flickering up to Rhett’s with a glint of mischief. “C’mon, dance with me.” The flirty tone he normally took on was there, but it wasn’t harsh like it normally was at the parties. It was genuine and curious, like he wasn’t sure of himself.

All in all, it was rather endearing.

Rhett bit his lip and began to shake his head but leaned forward enough that he was no longer leaning on anything, giving Link the space and ability to move him at will to the beat if he so desired. He found himself trying to keep down a laugh, his cheeks giving it away too soon as his hips were pushed and pulled. Link was laughing and matching Rhett’s robotic movements with his own, his hands burning a brand on each hip.

He didn’t think about the people around him or the band at the front of the stage. But the lyrics hit him square in the gut when he thought about it. His hands moved on their own accord towards Link’s waist but those froze halfway there. Link was singing along, voice loud in their close proximity, momentarily lost in the music.

“When Am I Gonna Lose You, Local Natives?” Link asked in between breaths and belting out the lyrics, his gaze catching Rhett’s, eyes full of fire. He stopped moving then, hands climbing to sit right over Rhett’s heart, curling into it for a minute. Rhett’s heart jumped at the proximity. Link traced the pattern of his shirt, eyes serious as they focused on Rhett’s chest.

Rhett was terrified that Link could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He was trying to keep his breath steady as to not break the tension of the moment. But my god, was Rhett affected. He felt the back of his neck prickle with sweat and his hands felt clammy. He watched Link’s finger trace out the letters across his chest, pressure so light Rhett had to focus to feel it. He could feel the heat radiating from Link’s body and he wanted him closer still, wanted to feel him pressed up against him. Even touching, they didn’t seem close enough.

But Link wasn’t paying attention to him, just tracing patterns.

He took that time to really look at Link’s face, to see if he could find anything new. His eyes zeroed in on the bow of his lip, the way his nose rounded a little severely at the tip, the way his bright eyes moved and followed his finger. He was really sort of breathtaking. He watched the way he took in a sharp breath, gulped. Rhett didn’t realize how much he’d leaned in until Link looked up at him and caught him staring. Link looked like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar but in the best kind of way, like he wasn’t even aware of what his body was doing. Like he was confused as to how they got that close but he didn’t hate it much either.

He could feel Link’s breath on his face, hot and harsh. Link’s eyes focused on his lips, his own parted just the slightest bit. Rhett leaned in further, his head stooping down to meet Link. This had to be it. He needed to be closer to Link and this was how he could do it. His heart was thundering in his chest so loud and hard.

He leaned down just the teeniest bit further, his hands reaching to touch, to grab, to pull Link closer. The tips of his fingers tingled with the electricity of it. He was sure that one he made contact, he’d get a jolt like he put a fork in an outlet. His eyes flickered all over Link’s face, just to be sure, but Link’s eyes were already closed and he was waiting for Rhett to make the move.

The thunderous applause of the audience shook him to his core and he blinked out of the moment, stunned. He didn’t even realize the song had ended.

When Rhett looked back down at Link, the giddy expression he saw moments earlier was back on his face. It didn’t even take a second before Link collected himself, leaving Rhett to pick up the pieces.

Link went right back to dancing then but slipped out from Rhett’s space.

He immediately missed the heat of him. Instead of continuing to move, Rhett sort of froze there, his hands still in the air. He tried to ground his thoughts into memory, remember this moment. He was scared that he could lose it. There was a moment there that Rhett did have Link. And for that strange little second, his heart jumped at the chance to explore it more. It scared him a little. Link and Neal/MHPP all seemed like different people.

Rhett didn’t know which one was real. He hoped to God it was this one.

Link stuck around for the rest of the concert, dancing and taking up too much space. He basically begged for attention which Rhett found rather amusing considering how he was at parties. Every time he did something especially goofy, he looked at Rhett with a grin and a blush like he was making sure that he was seen. Rhett tried to act like his heart wasn’t exploding inside his chest and smile back.

He mostly succeeded, but every once in a while, Link would get jittery with him and clam up, rush off to the bar or the bathroom or to find his friends. He always came back, though.

In rare moments that were quiet where Link leaned against the banister next to Rhett, they simply listened to the music together. Sometimes they would sing under their breath or as loud as they possibly could. They pinkies bumped into each other every so often when they adjusted positions. In those moments, Rhett felt more alive than he did at any concert before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta we die like men (who are too impatient to wait for feedback)
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/61ydG92AOqLqzIWLqtG7NG?si=GD0cYf5aQMuLoujGS4OVUQ here's the playlist again. songs mentioned in this chapter are Shy and When Am I Gonna Lose You by Local Natives bc they are lovely
> 
> any feedback welcome and thank you for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has a lot of alcohol and slight mention of drug uge, if that isn't your thing

Rhett was stupidly giddy, as Stevie had described. He felt like he was walking on air.

There was another party tonight and he wanted to make sure he looked extra good. He hadn’t seen Link since that night at the concert and he was nervous to see him. After the concert was over, he was going to ask Link to go grab some dinner or something at one of those open-late diners but he chickened out.

Instead, he promised himself that he would try to look at best as he could for Link the next time he saw him. If he wasn’t brave enough to ask Link out, maybe if he looked good enough, Link would ask him.

While he was getting ready, he threw an Arctic Monkeys shirt on, a familiar tune stuck in his head.

He never told any of his friends about the song exchange him and Link had going on. It seemed stupid. He shouldn’t wear shirts just so he could hear more of Link flirting with him. Nor should he wear shirts in hopes that Link would say one particular song title.

He looked at himself in the mirror, all long legs and arms, and squinted. The whole look seemed off somehow and he didn’t know how to fix it. His hair was all over the place, messy in the wrong way. Hald of it looked flat like he’d slept on it and the other half just wouldn’t cooperate. No matter how much he ran his fingers through it, it looked wrong.

His stomach lurched.

Maybe he wouldn’t go to the party tonight. His friends could survive without him for one night, he thought. However, Stevie must’ve caught onto his distress from her place perched on his bed because she rolled her eyes and moved to stand in front of him.

Her look was effortless. He wished it was so easy to look good.

He sighed, defeated.

She looked him up and down without saying a word, her lips pursed as she thought. After a full minute of scrutiny, and squirming on Rhett’s part, Stevie nodded to herself. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” she said and got to work. She untucked Rhett’s shirt and fluffed it out at the bottom to get the wrinkles out. She cuffed the sleeves on his shirt, cuffed his jeans (then uncuffed his jeans), told him to change his jeans, and grabbed a dark belt from his closet. She plopped a pair of white hightops at his feet, looking pleased with herself.

It took a lot of effort for Rhett to not roll his eyes.

He looked like himself when she was done, just… better, somehow. She calmed his disaster hair by running her hand through it once. _Once_. The white of his shoes and the detailing on his shirt matched in a really flattering way that wasn’t overwhelming. The black of his shirt mixed with the color of his hair which had pieces falling into his eyes made his eyes pop in a way he was genuinely surprised to see.

He felt good, is all. Dressed to impress. Subtly, thanks to Stevie.

“He’ll definitely _wanna be yours_ by the end of the night,” Stevie said as Rhett admired himself in the mirror, slightly mocking, slightly all-knowing. He glared at Stevie, annoyed that she knew him way too well for his own good.

He started keeping track of all of the songs they talked about in passing with a playlist on Spotify. A hopeless act, maybe, but he loved the idea of adding to it every time he talked to Link. Maybe if they ever got to the point that he was hoping they would, he would show him.

It was like burning him a CD, like they were in middle school and he was making him a stupid love playlist.

“Stevie, oh my God. I’m a cheeseball.” No preamble. No explanation afterwards. He backed away from the mirror until he slammed himself onto his bed with a self-deprecating groan. He was an idiot, was what he was. He put both of his hands over his face in frustration. He was about to put his hands through his hair only for Stevie to yell frantically and grab at his hands.

From his position on his back, he looked up at Stevie. She was staring down at him with a laugh written all over her face. She was too good of a friend to laugh outright, thankfully. He didn’t need to add more embarrassment to himself. “Yes, you are. But—”

”Hey!”

“ _But_ ,” she emphasized, eyebrows raising at the interruption, “he seems to like you just the same. So stop panicking. We gotta go.”

Rhett put on extra deodorant because he was terrified that he would sweat through his shirt. It was the absolute last thing he needed to happen tonight, especially with the walk across campus from his room. The night was cooler than the others had been lately, a warning of the fall season nearing. Normally, he would find himself shivering in this weather but his nerves and excitement kept him jittery without the chills.

It felt like a lot shorter of a walk than it normally did. But then again, they normally did the walk a little tipsy. When they stepped up to the door, Stevie was let in without issue. Rhett, on the other hand, had an arm held out in front of his chest. Realistically, he knew he could just barrel through however he didn’t want to get on the bad side of the frat guys. Especially if Link was in there.

“Name?” the guy asked. He had glasses and a backwards hat on. Josh, the one who found him and Link in the bathroom the party before. He looked so serious that Rhett sputtered it out. When Josh went down the entire list of names, Rhett gulped. At the sigh, Josh raised an eyebrow at him and showed his teeth in an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, man, unless you know one of the guys…”

Rhett blinked. He shook his head like he could understand better if he said it one more time. Josh repeated himself with a huff. “Link,” Rhett said, like that was an explanation. Stevie looked over Josh’s shoulder at Rhett, squinting in confusion. “Neal? Ask him.” He hated how confident he sounded.

Josh hit the corner of the clipboard against his palm. There was going to be a line of people behind him soon if they didn’t figure it out now. Rhett chewed his lip and hoped his face wasn’t as red as he felt that it was. A sinking feeling tugged at his stomach.

“Or Alex,” Stevie added helpfully, a look that clearly said “what-the-fuck-is-happening” stuck on her face. Rhett didn’t have a damn clue.

Josh looked back to Stevie and flashed a tight, closed-lip smile, “Sure. One sec.” The ingenuine high notes in his voice spoke volumes. Rhett wanted to shrink into himself.

He started to shiver for real when Josh disappeared into the house. Rhett stepped to the side to let everyone else in. The guy at the door kept giving him pitying looks. It stung, but he was fine. He crossed his arms of his chest and raised his shoulders to keep the warmth by his ears.

With a call to catch up with him, Stevie disappeared into the party with a determined eyebrow scrunch. He knew her intentions were to go find Alex and get Rhett into the house. Rhett didn’t know if he was more grateful for it or embarrassed.

He watched from the porch steps as a group of at least ten guys walk into the house with no problem. A sour taste sat on his tongue then. If he ever got into the house, he wanted to wash it down with a drink. He didn’t even care how awful it was. It had to taste better than the bitterness building in the back of his throat.

Another five minutes passed before he was ready to give up. He forced himself to make eye contact with the “bouncer” before giving the best “what-can-you-do” smile he could muster. The corners of his mouth didn’t even lift with it, he only showed his teeth.

He hopped down the steps and shoved his hands into his pockets. He hated the stinging feeling in the corners of his eyes, hated the disappointment crushing his stomach into knots, hated the smell of beer that wafted from the house and made him think of Link.

Neal.

He obviously wasn’t good enough to be on the list this time, so Neal it was. Not Link.

He was at the end of the driveway before he heard a “oh! Yeah. No, he’s fine.”

“Brett!”

He froze, shut his eyes so tight that no tears could form. He pushed his lips together so hard that it hurt. He turned slowly and saw Neal trip out of the door and laugh manically. “ _Shit!_ ”

Shit, indeed.

The smile Rhett forced physically hurt.

He tried to pretend Neal didn’t put him on the list because he was already drunk or just didn’t think about it. Nothing personal, Rhett, nothing personal.

The walk to the door felt like walking a mile and a half on shards of glass. Rhett was tempted to hightail it out of there before even stepping through the threshold but his damn manners got the better of him. Neal grinned at him but it didn’t reach his eyes with the alcohol muddying them. The pretty blue he very dearly liked was foggy and small compared to his pupils.

Gut punch number two: he was drunk and high and could not remember Rhett’s name.

Rhett shouldered past Neal at the doorway, disappointment caught in the back of his throat. He hoped his silence spoke for him.

He went straight for tequila when he managed to squeeze past the crowd. He was sure the stormy expression on his face was enough to part the crowd enough for him to walk through. He took three shots in quick succession to get through the bad of it all. He was proud of himself when he didn’t immediately puke it all back up.

The burn was what he deserved after expecting anything with Neal.

Stevie and the others found him eventually, all of them apologizing profusely. They didn’t think he wouldn’t be on the list. He was on it every other time, they said. They didn’t know, really.

He obviously forgave them and took three more shots to dull the pain of being reminded. He then promptly lost himself in the rest of the party.

When shot number eight hit him too quickly, he stumbled around until he found a dark place to quiet his spinning head. The pantry was by far the most part abandoned portion of the house, apart from the occasional struggling person looking for the bathroom.

Rhett shut his eyes against the spins and let his head fall back against the closest thing. He heard it crinkle loudly against his ears and giggled to the open air. His limbs felt stupidly heavy and he spun with the room, let himself feel it all at once and much too quickly.

“Hey, Arctic Monkeys,” a voice called, an easy attempt at softness in the tone.

There was a vice grip on his heart. Rhett squeezed his eyes shut harder. He didn’t realize he let out the frustrated grunt until he heard a quiet laugh from the doorway. Footsteps got closer until body heat radiated all along Rhett’s side. The crinkle came again. The corner of Rhett’s mouth quirked up again.

Then he frowned. He looked over at Link, but their faces were too close in the dark. He watched Link’s profile as his eyes adjusted. His heart was in his throat again. “Do I Wanna Know?” he asked, his lip caught in his teeth after. He regretted even talking, hearing the slur in his own words. He hated even more that he didn’t even sound pissed.

Link turned his head, blinking slow and steady. He didn’t look as fucked up now, but maybe it was because Rhett was on the same page. He moved his jaw in a funny sort of sideways motion, tilted his head, and shook his head sadly. Even his smile was sad.

Rhett wanted to kiss him, make him feel better. He hummed in acknowledgement but his eyes stayed glued to the plump pink of his lips. Link licked them then, the flash of tongue a surprise to Rhett. He felt caught out again but in a good way.

“Do Me A Favor,” Link whispered, voice strained. He leaned further into Rhett’s side, his cheek practically resting on Rhett’s shoulder. He smiled so sweetly; Rhett would’ve done anything he said after that. “Kiss me.”

And Rhett was powerless against a request like that.

In the dark, he had the courage to curl on hand around the back of Link’s neck and drag him forward. Their noses bumped harshly and he blew out a laugh through his nose. He could feel Link smile. Even with the slight miscalculation, within moments their lips slotted together. Even as just a press of lips, it was everything he was wishing for, with the added bonus of alcohol making his nerves sing.

Rhett felt electricity course through his body and he buzzed pleasantly when he pushed forward more, his thumb rubbing through the hair at the base of Link’s skull. Link nudged Rhett’s nose with his own, guided him with a hand to his jaw to tilt his head more. When he got the right angle, he grinned into the kiss and nipped so lightly against Rhett’s bottom lip that Rhett thinks he dreamt it.

Rhett chased him down, his other hand reaching blindly between them for something to grab onto. Link decided for him, grips his hand and plants it firmly on his lower back. Rhett took that as the right opportunity to pull Link close and deepen the kiss even more, his tongue licking teasingly to open Link up. He almost had Link starting to bend backwards with the push of his tongue before the sound of someone clearing their throat startled Link away.

Rhett watched through heavy lids as Link’s panic surfaced. He felt the shift of atmosphere and loosened his grip on Link, preparing for the worst. He swallowed hard and waited. He should’ve figured it couldn’t be that easy.

Link shoved at Rhett and stumbled back. “Jesus,” he growled, angry all of a sudden, “Whatever you think is going on here, That’s Where You’re Wrong.”

Rhett balked, figuring that the reaction would be apologetic, not angry. His head was spinning in the wrong way again. “Snap Out Of It, _Neal_ ,” he tried to say but chokes halfway through. He couldn’t make out who was in the doorway but he didn’t care. He felt like someone replaced his blood with cold water.

Neal laughed, then, high and flighty. It coiled in Rhett’s stomach and squeezed. “Whatever, Rhett. You’re more than welcome to Suck It and See.” Even the lewd gesture he made hurt.

Rhett was going to puke. He could taste the alcohol Link was drinking on his tongue. His lips were still tingling. He had to leave and he had to leave now.

He managed to push past Neal and hated the way his skin burned when Neal’s hands moved him out of the way.

Over his shoulder, he heard Neal laugh again. “What?” he sounded like he stumbled, trying to walk after Rhett, “You don’t want One For The Road?”

Rhett decided he wasn’t coming back to any of the parties at the frat house.

At least his tears didn’t come until he was outside, swiping uselessly at his nose and cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like half edited so my apologies for any mistakes. it was also written at like 3 am so oh well.  
> anyways, come talk to me on tumblr! @buddeysystem '  
> more soon :)


	5. Chapter 5

Rhett could’ve sworn that he had never seen Link Neal on campus before that stupid night in the pantry. But now every turn he took, there he was with his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and his hair pushed back off of his face.

It was driving Rhett insane.

Sometimes Link was laughing with his friends and Rhett’s stomach would clench so hard he almost doubled over. He’d watch as Link took big bites out of apples or took a swig from a water bottle for lunch and think about how he knew what his lips felt like. The worst was when he was chewing gum, his jaw taut and firm—he’d talk out of the corner of his mouth then, the gum peeking out from the other corner. Rhett would think about how he’d probably be able to feel the stubble against the palm of his hand. It was utterly distracting, and Rhett hated that he wanted to taste the flavor on his breath.

As he found himself seeing Link more and more, Rhett picked up on a lot of his idle habits, like how he fidgeted with anything close to his hands and twitched his fingers when he was listening intently. He seemed happy with his friends, always so present in the conversations with his echoing laughter and quick wit. Though he couldn’t hear the conversation, the way that the others hooted and hollered at anything he said and Link’s proud smirk, Rhett was sure that he didn’t want to listen in.

Other times, Link was alone, hunched over his laptop or some book with earbuds in. He bopped his head to the beat as he studied or wrote papers, focused entirely on what was in front of him. When he got really into his music, he’d drum with a pen or his fingers and he’d mouth along to the words. It was like nobody could see him if he had headphones in.

But Rhett could.

Watching those soft moments, he felt weird—like he was intruding, but he like he somehow deserved to see them anyways. Whenever he caught Link like this, Rhett wanted so badly to plop down in a chair next to him and pull an earbud out—so, so desperate to know what he was listening to. If it was anything that they’d talked about before. In the times that Link was alone with his music playing, he was purely Link then, not Neal or whoever else he pretended to be. Rhett knew it.

He found himself wanting to catch more and more glimpses of the real Link, cozy in cardigans and graphic tee shirts as the weather got chillier. It never occurred to him that it hurt more and more every time he say Link, though. A restlessness took hold of his heart every time and he hated it, missed the sound of Link’s voice telling him what song he should listen to next, even when those hurt, too.

Instead of facing the problem head on, like the coward that he was, Rhett turned the other way any time Link caught him looking. He tried to avoid any unnecessary encounters, including parties, as he tried to get over his stupid crush, tried to tell his heart that Link was just using him for some fun when he was drunk.

It was late October when they finally ran into each other. Rhett’s physics class had gotten out early, so he decided to catch up with Stevie for lunch. He didn’t normally have the time to eat lunch with friends so it was an extra nice treat after the torture that was college level physics. They decided to meet at Bruce’s.

The café on campus seemed to be the “it” spot for most students, as the dark green booths were the comfiest and the food was the best tasting for the best price. The area was spread across the top floor of the center building on campus. Bruce’s had wood paneling throughout with such a homey vibe, it was a wonder that there were ever seats open. There was a raised portion in the back of the café that held sofas and armchairs, too. Most people liked to study there, despite the noise from the kitchen or other students.

And coffee. Coffee was always a plus. It was just what Rhett needed after the way his brain struggled to catch up with his lecture.

With his backpack slung off of one shoulder, he walked up to the line outside of the coffee station. The fabric under the zipper was starting to fray and he had to get his college ID out before he was at the front of the line, and it would definitely be a struggle to get to it. As the line inched forward, Rhett tried to keep up as he pulled uselessly at the zipper.

He thought about his plans for the weekend and came up blank. He knew his friends were going to the party on Friday, but he politely declined Alex’s insistence that he should be there. Instead, he’d go to the movies or maybe not. His suitemates always went out during the weekend, so he’d have the rooms to himself. Maybe he’d just sit in his bed and study. And not listen to the playlist that somehow made it to the top of his most-listened-to list in a few short weeks.

He tugged one last time at his backpack harsher than the rest, and the zipper finally gave way. He almost cheered in his triumph until he heard the gasp to his right and the distinct sound of ice hitting the floor. At his feet, he saw iced coffee racing toward his feet. He followed the spill upward, an apology scratching out from the back of his throat. It stuck, though, and Rhett wanted to sink into the floor with the rest of the iced coffee when he looked up to see Link Neal, the front of his mossy green pullover soaked.

Link pinched the fabric between two fingers and cringed, making his glasses shift further up his nose. He didn’t look pissed, but he was definitely uncomfortable. When he sighed and walked to get napkins, Rhett scrambled to catch up with him to help.

His heart was crashing against his ribcage.

If there were a worse way to run into Link, Rhett wished that could’ve happened instead. He was mortified. The only thing going through his head was a mantra of _stupid, stupid, stupid_. He almost smacked himself for it.

“I am so sorry,” he said quickly, reached for some napkins, and started dabbing at the fabric. He watched his own hands tremble and cursed himself in his head. “Let me buy you another coffee.” _Stupid_.

He heard the start of a sigh come from Link and prepared himself for whatever came next. He kept his head down in an attempt to keep away from the glare he knew he would be receiving. He couldn’t deal with seeing the venom from Link again. He got enough of it at the party, however long ago it was.

When no yelling came, Rhett looked up with an eyebrow cocked. He hoped distantly that the worry didn’t show on his face. What he came face to face with was a look of…something. He didn’t know what to call it. Awe? Confusion? Heat?

Another apology.

But this one from Link, rushed like he didn’t even realize it came out. He blinked rapidly after he said it and realized his mouth was still open, shut it. “Coffee.” He looked speechless, so caught off guard that Rhett wasn’t sure what to do other than scrunch his eyebrows together in a silent question.

If Link hated him so much and didn’t want him around, why the hell was he so flustered? Did he feel bad for how they left things, too? Rhett searched his face for answers but halted at Link’s lips, slightly chapped but still so pink. The soft “oh” that came from Link went right to Rhett’s gut and twisted hard.

Their hands were close on the fabric of his shirt. He wanted to stick his pinkie out and wrap it around Link’s, but he stayed where he was, so cautious of the heat radiating from Link’s hands. “What did you have?” he asked instead. He hated how quiet his voice sounded. Gravelly like he hadn’t had anything to drink in years.

Link looked from their hands up to Rhett quickly, not even thinking before he blurted out, “Huh?” and then “Iced coffee with cream. Sorry. I’m sorry.” His eyes flicked down to their hands again and Rhett watched as he bit his lip hard in what Rhett assumed was regret. Hoped was regret for how he treated Rhett before.

Link grimaced into a smile. “Large.”

Rhett felt a chuckle loosen the knot in his stomach, quickly replaced with the butterflies he’d weirdly missed. He was trying to get away from Link; he didn’t need this kind of interaction. He couldn’t want to kiss the spot where Link’s teeth had just been in an attempt to salve the pain there, even if there wasn’t any. Couldn’t want to lick the taste of coffee out of his mouth.

Rhett stepped back first and made a move to get back into the line. The chattering around him was without a doubt about him demolishing Link’s coffee right into him. In the time that they took to wipe at his sweatshirt, a worker was already mopping up the scene with a disgruntled twist to her mouth, her knuckles white on the handle of the mop.

He felt suddenly deflated again. This was all his fault.

When he ordered, his sheepish manner made the girl at the counter smile, and he felt himself smiling back. Her dark hair and light eyes intrigued him, but he didn’t know how to get past the feeling of someone staring at the back of his head enough to continue the conversation. He could always go back later and ask for her number is he really wanted.

It wasn’t like Link was going to stick around anyhow. He needed to get over him somehow, Rhett thought. Might as well try.

There was a nagging in the back of his head, though, and he bailed with a grimace of his own.

The first sip of his drink and Rhett felt better. The bitterness of the coffee took the bitterness out of his mood and he was ready to face Link again, to apologize, and get the rest of the conversation over with.

Link had taken off the sweatshirt somewhere between their last interaction, replaced with a simple white tee. The white of the shirt made his dark hair look even darker and his blue eyes even bluer. The sleeves were cuffed and they accentuated the sinewy nature of his arms. The shirt was tight but not unflattering. It showed off his broad shoulders and his tiny waist without giving away if he had a little tummy or the ripple of abs underneath. Rhett found himself wondering which one is was as he stared at the shirt.

Belatedly, Rhett realized he must’ve been wearing it under the sweatshirt. Thankfully, he saw no stains from the coffee on the undershirt.

Link cleared his throat and Rhett snapped his eyes back to his face, which reddened under the scrutiny. He looked like he was trying to stamp down a smile with the way his lips moved. And then he gestured to the coffee in Rhett’s hand, raised his eyebrows up and down once, and pressed his lips together again.

When Rhett handed it to him, careful to not let their fingers overlap, Link frowned. Any amusement left his eyes and all that was there now was guarded. His eyes followed every movement that Rhett made with a wariness that Rhett didn’t quite understand. It was like hot and cold with Link every single time they interacted. He didn’t know what to think of it. Or if it ever even meant anything.

Either way, he had to meet Stevie or she’d get nervous. He nodded to Link and brushed past him to walk to his usual booth in the corner. Except the hand on his upper arm stopped him in his tracks, a heat that soaked into his skin and traveled to the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks.

“Rhett,” Link practically whispered. He paused, waiting for Rhett to turn to him, fingering tightening a fraction. His eyes were so damn expressive, it caught Rhett off guard. The air felt thick between them then, like whatever was said after that changed things. “Listen, I’m sorry. I—you. This party—there’s this party on Friday. Your name is on the list.” The _this time_ went unsaid.

Rhett took in the desperate expression on Link’s face, the unspoken words between them too confusing to grasp a good hold on. It was an olive branch; that he did know. He tried to hide the shock on his face but he knew that it showed through. Still, he attempted to school it into something more neutral and less like he wanted to scream in frustration. He heard Stevie in the back of his head telling him that he needed to get back in there, get back to having fun with his friends on the weekends.

But the thought of running into Mr. Hot Pink Polo again set his teeth on edge. He couldn’t count on seeing Link at that party. Only who he (hopefully) pretended to be.

The fact that Rhett’s heart was beating too fast told him too much. He knew he wanted to give in just to wipe that expression off of Link’s face. He wanted to see his smile all excited and aimed right at him. The noncommittal grunt that came out instead of words shocked even himself.

He shook off the hand and walked off, ignoring the thing that felt like a damn brand on his upper arm.

At the table, he said nothing as he sat. His head hit the tabletop and Stevie just cooed for a second before stealing his coffee. “You’re hopeless,” she said after an obnoxiously loud slurp. He knew that once he told her about the party, she would be forcing him to go.

Truth be told, he kind of wanted her to. If only for him to be able to confront Link under the guise of alcohol. And if it turned out that he could only kiss Link when he was plastered, he might just have to deal for the time being.

It’s not like he could make Link jealous or anything.

Rhett looked up at Stevie, an inkling of an idea popping into his head. He must’ve had a look on his face because Stevie was tilting her head to the side and squinting at him in her incredulous manner. As if she was his best friend or something, she understood the look and gasped, all false anger. “Oh, no,” she laughed without mirth, “No, Rhett. I’m not doing this again.”

He laughed at that, remembering how they dated in early high school. How Stevie came out to him as a break up and he cried before he realized he was similar but different. She was the one to give him a label that he was comfortable with. And he was the one that helped her realize she was gay.

“Please?” he asked, “For me? Your boyfriend?”

Stevie only put her head in her hands, shaking with laughter or anger—Rhett couldn’t quite tell. Finally, she tucked her chin on her hands and shook her head at him, hiding a smile. “Fine, but you owe me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no new music this chapter??? wow things must be strained. 
> 
> come say hi on tumblr @buddeysystem   
> sorry my updates are so scattered


	6. Chapter 6

Stevie gave him that look again. The one that said that he owed her a new shirt and maybe a concert ticket and his soul for this. They were nearing the steps and he held her hand too tightly, he realized too late. His hands were sweating and it was hard to keep a good grip, so he just held on tighter.

Stevie clearly was not a fan, and made Rhett aware of it every second she could. The entire plan had been his idea and he should feel bad, he should. But his nerves wouldn’t let go. Therefore, neither would his hand.

He’d already had a few drinks in Stevie’s apartment, all of their friends pregaming (read: trying to calm Rhett down). His skin buzzed pleasantly and if anyone were to ask him to use his thumbs or walk a straight line at the moment, he couldn’t do it well. Either way, he knew it was necessary to carry on.

As the pair walked up the steps, Stevie shot him a smirk and honest to goodness blushed when the “bouncer” looked between the two of them like they both had two heads each. The guy didn’t say anything until they passed into the house, at which point he muttered, “Oh, here we go.”

Rhett decided to take that as a good sign.

They decided that dancing was out of the question—Stevie insisted through a snorting laugh. _“You’re a gangly giraffe who got fed drugs when you dance, Rhett. No. I’m not being stepped on.”_

And really, Rhett couldn’t argue. Plus, he couldn’t help but think of Stevie’s hands guiding his hips to sway this way and that, and it made his heart clench, the night at the concert fresh in his mind. He missed the gentle, overwhelming heat of Link’s hands on his hips and his contagious laughter while he sang along to any song that the band played. It felt wrong to betray that feeling, especially with Stevie.

She was dragging him to the kitchen to grab him a drink, her arm outstretched in a flirty way as she tugged him along. If she wasn’t gay and he was interested in her at all, it would probably be endearing. From an outside perspective, his smile probably looked smitten and intrigued. When they came up short, neither said anything. Rhett didn’t even have to look up to know that Link was obviously in there. He tried to school his expression into something other than straight up panic.

Stevie squeezed his hand hard like she knew he would react this way and crowded into his space to distract him. She knew what to do, Rhett reminded himself. Her face was an open expression of “do you trust me” and “you’re can still back out.” They both knew he’d be an idiot and freeze up when the chance arose. His best friend, the mastermind herself, was at work then. And he did trust her.

She took on the role easily, tucking her hair behind her ear in a shy and inviting way when she looked up at him through her lashes. She used their still intertwined hands and brought it up to her shoulder. She was speaking but Rhett figured it wasn’t important enough to pay attention. Her head tilted in such a way that Rhett’s eyes followed the line of her neck. She smiled all slow and sultry, no hint of mocking anywhere near it.

He smiled—a real smile that was full of pride that his Stevie had so much game—and set his open hand lightly on her hip. She stepped forward, her unoccupied hand on his chest, every inch of her body leaning in towards Rhett.

Completely out of character, however, Stevie laughed, like a full-bodied laugh like Rhett had brought up that one time in Target that they don’t talk about. She covered it easily enough, went on her tip-toes to whisper into Rhett’s ear. “He’s fuming.”

It took half a second to collect his bearings—the music was loud, he could have misinterpreted her. He leaned down further, pretended she was saying more than just giggling all pleased in his ear. His eyes scanned the kitchen, at least a dozen drunk idiots stumbling over each other and laughing, some reaching for drinks and others making grabby hands at the bowls of snacks.

Everyone seemed to be having a blast, except for the lithe figure leaning against the fridge. He clutched a beer bottle in his hand, taking big swigs from it every 10 seconds or so. Rhett watched cautiously, blinking and trying to look like he was listening, as Link sucked in a deep breath after too big of a gulp through his teeth in a grimace.

The clunk of Link dropping his head back onto the surface made Rhett jump. He realized too late that the movement meant Link’s eyes focused on him. They both gulped. All Rhett could hear was the bass from the music—or was that his heart again?

He took in the outfit that Link had on and just about pushed Stevie away. He had the shirt from the Local Natives concert on, the white of it so bright against the tan of his skin. He had the sleeves of it pushed up to his elbows and the collar was slipping in a sloped loop, exposing a sliver of his collarbone.

Regret gripped him hard.

Rhett’s breath stuttered when he looked back up to Link’s face.

The look in Link’s eyes really did hurt. He looked like a puppy someone left on the side of the road that decided it needed to plot its revenge. Rhett almost couldn’t stand to look at it, but he also knew that he couldn’t look away. It was like there was nothing else in the room and all Rhett wanted to do was apologize.

He tightened his grip on Stevie’s hip without even noticing. Either she was a grounding point or a push-off point; he couldn’t decide which. Honestly, he wished that she would take over so he wouldn’t do something he regretted even more.

She had dropped their hand holding schtick a minute or so ago, Rhett assumed when he finally noticed his hand was only grasping air. Instead, her hands went to the back of his neck and his jaw, pulling him down so she could connect her lips to his pulse point. “You so owe me.” She said it straight into his skin, and he was only human, really.

Someone kissed his neck, Rhett enjoyed. That was how it went. If he didn’t think about it, the soft glide of lips his neck felt almost too good to ignore. His eyelids fluttered, and he let out a soft “oh” for absolutely nobody’s benefit. He flushed beet red, suddenly embarrassed that he even made a noise at all.

He lost himself in it, blissfully unaware of the room and the people in it for a few brief seconds. His nerve endings were firing happily at the attention and being tipsy for it made the feeling even better, kind of like he was floating. He felt a slight sway in their conjoined posture and he almost laughed, about to tell her to stay still until a foot slammed hard into his toes and he felt the nip at his neck. “Pay attention. Look at him, you idiot. You shouldn’t even be enjoying this,” Stevie whispered, a false harshness attached to it.

Rhett could hear and feel how smug she was. He thought about how he definitely wasn’t going to live this down.

When he opened his eyes—and when did he even _close_ them—Link was gone. “Shit.” _Shit._ “Stevie, he’s gone.” The panic he heard in his own voice made him feel small and stupid. God, he needed a drink.

He disentangled himself from Stevie with a swipe at his neck. The brief pulsing heat at one part made his glare zero in on the blonde’s smug face. He wanted to laugh, he did, but it made a pit open up in his stomach. “You gave me a hickey?” he nearly shrieked, his pitch too high to be perceived as a joke. When Stevie said nothing, he covered that portion of his neck with his hand and growled. Playfully.

He couldn’t be mad, he realized, as he had asked her for this. He asked her to be all over him and make Link jealous. He didn’t think that meant making Link run away from him. “Shit.”

Stevie looked unamused and gave him a look again. This one told him that he was an idiot and this was what’s supposed to happen, and that yes, she did give him a hickey and he could stop hiding it now, thanks. He rolled his eyes at her but she understood that he meant it with love.

Without another word, she picked up a half-empty bottle of tequila by the neck and swung it into Rhett’s chest. The smack of it puffed air out of his chest, but the glass felt cool under his hands when he caught it. The solidarity in drinking tequila alone from a bottle was unmatched. They’d both been there. Neither remembered their own experiences, but c’est la vie.

As if on cue, they both laughed.

At least he could try to enjoy the rest of his night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what could possibly go wrong with MORE TEQUILA 
> 
> also sorry for another basically filler chapter. good things coming soon (maybe tomorrow). definitely more music in the next update :)


	7. Chapter 7

The first few swigs burned. After that, Rhett was just about convinced that the tequila could’ve been replaced with water. It made his limbs looser than they normally were, and he and his friends ended up in the middle of a huge group, dancing to a Lizzo song in the living room of the house. It was precisely what every house party in a movie looked like, just with more stumbling and less actors that were 35 pretending to be 20. The tequila bottle served as a microphone for a while, him passing it between everyone as they busted out in “the glory that was Lizzo” as Mike had said.

Rhett hated and loved that he knew the lyrics, laughing through them with a giddiness that bubbled out when he looked at his friends. If college were the best years of his life, he hoped he remembered moments like these. Even if it was through the rose-colored glasses that tequila brought on.

The lights were low, only table lamps or twinkly string lights illuminating the pile of bodies partying. It gave everyone security enough to not feel insecure about how they acted. That, and the alcohol.

The thrum of the bass made Rhett bop his head in a way he knew was just obnoxious enough to get a laugh. Someone over his shoulder laughed out that he looked like a chicken. Rhett, in his drunken stupor, and newly high on attention, exaggerated his movement tenfold into a full chicken impression in dance form.

The laughter echoed around him and in his head. He could see some of his friends bending at the waists and trying to hold in their laughter. Others just hid their smiles and shook their heads at his antics. They understood him, either way.

The attention shifted eventually to another song, one that every repeatedly jumped up and down to, one that people took shots to, or even made out to. Rhett took a second to take it all in, weirdly nostalgic for a future time when he could look back at this and smile. He was sure that if he sat down right now or even stood still, the room would spin, so he kept moving.

He hadn’t even thought about Link in five whole songs.

“Vampire Weekend.”

Rhett almost froze but took another swig from the bottle as it was passed back to him, like he could ignore the problem tapping on his shoulder. Five and a half songs.

“Stranger.”

He turned in a slow circle, way too aware of the way that he was clutching a bottle of tequila to his chest. Link wasn’t going to take it; Rhett knew that. But he felt weird for even holding it in the first place. He grinned wide and goofy when he was finally faced with the man of the hour. “Ya Hey,” he laughed, “Get it? Like. The song? But also, I was saying yeah, hey!”

He watched a smile twitch up on Link’s lips but disappear just as quickly. He wanted to bring it back. Link shut his eyes for a second in what looked like disbelief to Rhett. Also could’ve been disgust, though. Rhett wasn’t too sure—his vision was taking too long to focus so it bounced to the next motion that caught its attention. 

There was someone puking into a lampshade in the corner of the room.

Rhett cringed and turned back to where Link was standing, a comment ready on the tip of his tongue. Only Link was gone, his retreating back headed up the steps. He didn’t have any trouble climbing them, and Rhett immediately pushed through the crowd to follow him up.

In the back of his mind, he knew it was a bad idea.

He found out it was an even worse idea when he was face first in the carpet on the steps and had a firm hand wrapped around his biceps to pull him to his feet. The person mumbled under their breath. The only phrase that Rhett’s brain picked out was a simple “fucking hopeless.”

He figured it suited him pretty well at the moment.

And where did his tequila go?

And whose room was this?

“Mine, you jackass.”

Link stood in front of Rhett and somehow was towering over him. Rhett was confused until he realized that he was sitting on the ground with his back against the door, slumped and comfortable. “Hi, Local Natives.”

There was a deep sigh at that, and Rhett closed one eye against the scrutiny he could feel on his face. “What are you doing?” Link asked, a strong force behind the question. It may have been to himself, as he paced for a few steps after.

Rhett smiled up at Link, at the waves in his hair and how the color white really seemed to compliment his skin tone, and his glasses made his eyes really pretty, and the way his chest looked when he crossed his arms. And the way he blushed such a nice color, and it didn’t make him look like he had a fever like it did with Rhett.

Link stopped suddenly, looked down at his arms and back to Rhett. Like Rhett had complimented him and he was trying to figure out what the hell Rhett was talking about. “What?” His cheeks continued to color, and he was trying so hard to hold back a smile. Rhett thought he was really beautiful. 

“What?” Rhett echoed. And Lord Almighty did he sound smitten. It was the alcohol running through his veins, he reckoned. “I,” he paused, trying to think of a song title to fit the situation and pointed to his shirt, “Don’t Lie.” Except when he faked a relationship to get Link jealous and possibly ruined everything.

But hey, tequila.

At that, Link looked struck out. His shoulders tightened and his expression soured for like the third time since Rhett started counting. “That girl,” Link started, cleared his throat, and looked down at his shoes, “you sweet on her or somethin’?” He scuffed his shoe against the floor and Rhett had half a mind to tell him to take his shoes off in his house, but realized he was also wearing shoes.

Should he take his shoes off?

Once the cogs in Rhett’s brain started turning, they didn’t really stop. Before he could even say anything, though, Link’s eyes glanced up and zeroed in on the blossoming bruise on his neck and his tongue scraped against his teeth. Against better judgement, Rhett clapped a hand to the spot to cover it, his ever comically wide. Link’s eyes narrowed.

“Stevie?” and he was laughing despite himself. He knew it was serious but the fact that Link bought it, _actually bought it_ , was unreal. His head was fuzzy with it and he wasn’t sure how to take it in. “She’s my best friend.” 

Link made a noise, a quiet humph that accentuated the confused turn of his eyebrows behind his glasses. “You are, then.” Silence, then more talking. “My Mistake, then, Vampire Weekend.” 

Rhett giggled as he shook his head. Link must’ve been thick-headed, though, because his gaze turned embarrassed and closed-off. Too much for Rhett to fix in his inebriated state. “She’s gay, dude,” was his explanation instead. 

“Gay?”

“Yeah. She likes girls.”

“Do you?”

It was a loaded question; Rhett could feel it. It wasn’t loaded to him, per se, but to Link, it could’ve been. Rhett had known he was bisexual since 10th grade.

“Yeah. Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Guys?” Rhett implored, lightly as if he was tip-toeing through a house when everyone was asleep. He didn’t want to risk scaring Link off.

“Maybe.”

Rhett nodded, then nodded some more. He drummed his fingers on the wood floor beneath him and thought. He ran through the discography of his shirt for a minute, listening to the party underneath them. It was shaking the floor, he realized belatedly. He could feel it bumping against his legs and the door rattle in its closed position. “Yeah, I’m an Obvious _Bi_ cycle myself.” He smiled, smug with the emphasis and his joke.

He hoped that his proud smile didn’t look goofy but it felt too wide on his face. He also hoped that Link understood his joke. He was about to ask when Link moved to sit. 

Link must’ve finally decided that Rhett wasn’t going anywhere, so he sat in front of him, feet almost touching as they spread out on the floor, leaning back against their hands or the door. He looked like he was chewing on a thought, so Rhett let him be.

He took Link in again, in his Local Natives shirt and his hair a little messy from touching it throughout the night. The way he leaned back on his hands made his chest pop and Rhett couldn’t help but stare at the shape of the muscle underneath the clothing. He didn’t look drunk, but Rhett wasn’t exactly the best judge of character at that time. He probably couldn’t even read an analog clock, so how was he supposed to read a person.

“So you’re not with Stevie? Or anybody?” So unsure, so different from the person he was used to seeing at these parties. It made Rhett’s head swim and his heart sing. Link knocked his foot against Rhett’s, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips.

It made Rhett’s heart jump.

Rhett smiled full-watt at Link, trapped the foot in between his own. The movement vibrated up his legs and he felt a warmth travel with it when Link hid a laugh behind his hand. Here he was, reeking of tequila and sweat and the general college boy, happily playing footsie like he was in junior high again.

He was a little kid again, nervous before his first kiss with shy smiles and that giddy feeling like before the roller coaster drop in his stomach. It felt like right before a lightning strike. And that was just from footsie. He wouldn’t even know where to start if he kissed Link then. Because he was Link.

“You’re Link right now. Right? Not Neal or Mr. Hot Pink Polo?” Oh, and he hadn’t meant to say that.

At Link’s hurt, albeit a little confused too, look, Rhett sat forward and attempted to move closer to him, maybe to apologize or maybe just to get closer. He wasn’t sure. The room tilted and the floor slipped out from under him, even from his hands and knees. He figured that laying on the floor was close enough to where he wanted to be. He patted the spot next to his head.

He couldn’t even see Link from where he was; the metal frame of a bed in his peripherals. Moving would cause the world to go out of focus again and he needed Link to come to him. It was important, so imperative that he said this now while Link could hear him and he could talk without distraction. And a substance loosening his tongue.

It took a full minute—Rhett counted on his fingers—until Link came into his field of vision. His face was frozen on both worry and a hesitant, placating smile like he was afraid Rhett would puke on him.

And Rhett wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t.

“You’re the one who dances with me at concerts and stands at the back with me, or kisses me in a closet all nice and sweet.” The air around them lightened and he saw Link’s eyes soften, saw his hand reach out briefly before he set it down. Rhett’s skin buzzed, like he needed the affection but knew it wouldn’t get it. He stared at the hand that almost touched him and waited for his vision to stop waving.

Rhett’s throat tightened before he continued, “Not the one who shoves me away and acts like I’m scum of the earth for kissing you back when we get caught. Not the one who said my music sucked or called me by the wrong name on purpose after refusing me into a party after you were the one putting my name on the list?” Was he even making sense or just babbling at that point?

He wanted to talk about how Link played with his emotions and he didn’t need that in his life, how he dealt with that too much in high school and it wasn’t fair. He wanted to tell Link that either he wanted him or he didn’t, and that Link had to choose. Had to actively choose or Rhett would break.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t because his brain was bouncing from thought to thought and all he wanted was for Link to tell him that yes, of course he was Link. He would never hurt Rhett on purpose.

Rhett hated the panic that gripped him when Link just looked at him with all emotion wiped from his face. He tried again. “You’re not that guy. Right? You’re Link.” His voice cracked. God, he hated that his voice cracked. The desperation of it made him want to shrink until Link could no longer see him. Crawling under the bed felt safer than how he was exposed to Link at that moment.

“Um.”

And oh, how that was the wrong thing to say to a drunk Rhett who was minutes from puking even if he didn’t move.

Rhett put his hands over his face, then, because he really didn’t want to see any more. He had had enough and the instant regret sat low in his stomach and broiled until the nausea hit the back of his throat.

“I mean. Yeah, Rhett—”

“No, I’m going to—”

Puke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, rhett really did lay it all out there. on the floor, of link's bedroom. in vomit. 
> 
> come say hi over on my tumblr and talk to me about where you think we're going from here @buddeysystem
> 
> thank you all for the wonderful support and comments lately, i greatly appreciate you all :) sorry for any pain or bringing up memories of getting too drunk on tequila and puking your guts out
> 
> also new music on the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/61ydG92AOqLqzIWLqtG7NG?si=NSJZcl9aQZWAQY_f4W0BYw


	8. Chapter 8

Rhett woke with a startle, his body jolting and his head pounding. The first thing he noted was that someone needed to turn down the sunlight for the day. Even the act of cracking his eyes open sent needles into his brain. He groaned, but the noise rattled in his head and made everything worse.

The second thing of interest was the acrid taste in his mouth—like death and decaying lemon peels mixed with dirt. His teeth were covered in a fuzzy film and his throat ached. He felt gross—sweaty and greasy and awful.

His stomach felt like it was clenched too tightly. It felt like the one time he braved the warnings and ate at the Chinese place downtown and got food poisoning that sent him to the hospital. Did he puke?

His mouth was dry, too, and he reached blindly for the water bottle he always kept on his dresser, only to hit open air. The room spun; he groped for any semblance of his room without opening his eyes to the harsh morning.

When nothing came of it, he peeked out of one eye with a hand shielding the sunlight. His bed didn’t normally face the window this way and he was suddenly caught out. He squinted and tried to make sense of his surroundings. The bed was bigger than his twin and he was quite comfortable, except for the fact that it wasn’t his bed and he had no idea where he was. He was laying upside down on the bed itself, the pillows strewn at the top, except for the throw pillow under his head. The comforter underneath him was soft, and the woven blanket on top of him was thin and worn.

Judging by how he was laying, someone had thrown him onto the bed and tucked him in. He didn’t share the bed. He hoped.

With the wicked hangover he was feeling, Rhett wasn’t shocked to find the events of the night before to be a bit fuzzy. However, the more he peered around the room, the more Rhett wished he could remember.

There were a few posters on the walls of bands he was either familiar with or loved dearly, an open closet full of coordinated bright colors, followed immediately by a small collection of black, and the room was nearly spotless (except a few papers askew on the desk and the odd trinket set out).

And the chair covered in clothes in the corner of the room.

He had a sneaking suspicion of whose room it is—the realization only served to make his stomach clench even tighter. He was planning his escape as the minutes ticked on, somewhat waiting for the man of the hour to appear.

He didn’t even know where his phone was, so it wasn’t like he could call Stevie or one of the guys to come get him. He had to accept that he was stranded until someone came and found him, or he snuck out.

And he was not sneaking out in this condition.

He waited another five minutes before he risked moving to a sitting position. When the room spun and his stomach dropped, Rhett recognized his mistake. He was never drinking again. He tried to focus on the darkness behind his eyelids and how much he did not want to puke again.

It helped a little.

Counting his breaths, Rhett tried to keep his nausea at bay. At around the number 27, the room stopped spinning. Still, he kept his eyes shut. Decidedly, Rhett knew the best thing he could do was lay low in bed all day.

Except that he wasn’t in his own bed. The mere thought of running into Link made Rhett worry his lip between his teeth. It made his hands shake and he wanted to duck and cover. Under the covers, so to speak. But he also knew that it was inevitable. 

The dread he felt at staying in that spot for too long hit at just the right time, as he heard the door creak open slowly, like whoever was behind it didn’t want to disturb anyone. When Rhett opened his eyes, he saw a fluffy head of hair peek through the doorway.

At Link’s sheepish smile, Rhett’s heart stuttered. He couldn’t tell if the feeling in his stomach was from the butterflies or alcohol withdrawal.

“Sorry, just wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren’t dead,” Link whispered.

Rhett must’ve looked horrified or entirely blank because Link cocked his head and twisted his lips. Rhett knew he was trying not to laugh.

He eased himself further into the room but stuck near the door, leaning with his back against it to close with a quiet click. “We should—uh—talk,” he said, amused to no end that Rhett was lost on this whole conversation. “D’you want some water?”

Rhett floundered and his mouth went dry.

Link took Rhett’s silence as a yes, shifting more into the room with a water bottle held out between them.

Rhett didn’t move. He sat still until Link sat next to him, nudging a knee to sit up against Rhett’s thigh. He bumped the cold water bottle against Rhett’s arm, gentle but pressing for him to finally take it.

A grounding warmth started at the point of contact, and Rhett flushed. At the second, intentional knock of their knees, Rhett took the water bottle from Link’s outstretched hand, a grimaced smile stretched too tightly on his lips.

Clearing his throat, Rhett twisted off the cap and took a ginger sip, suddenly wary of his breath and the close proximity. He gulped too loudly in the small space.

A giggle escaped from his left. And then an immediate apology, with no hint of actually being sorry, might Rhett add. Rhett watched as Link hid his smile behind a hand, a blush clear as day high in his cheeks.

If there was ever a time that Rhett felt more like a soft, gooey mess on the inside, he couldn’t remember. He felt like someone changed his insides to a bunch of feathers and he was light with how happy Link’s happiness and proximity made him.

It was almost enough to cure his headache.

The way Link giggled felt like peppered kisses on his skin. It was goofy and soothing all at once, and Rhett wanted to eat it up every chance he got. He wanted to be the one to cause his shoulders to shake and his teeth to peek out from behind his hand. Wanted for Link to stop putting his hand over his mouth when he laughed and just let it all out.

But Link wasn’t his, so he kept his mouth shut—kept Link from hearing every stupid thought bouncing around in his head. How pretty his smile was, how he had just a little bit of a lisp sometimes when he talked and how much Rhett loved it, how nice his hair was.

Rhett let him giggle for a minute or so. He took in the man beside him and cringed again through his headache with what he hoped looked like a smile. He took another sip of water.

“So,” Rhett finally said, and it set off another giggle.

Link quit the second that Rhett let out a chuckle, raised his eyebrow and moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. His knee made contact with Rhett’s thigh again, the push more insistent, as he got more comfortable and put one elbow on his knee, his chin resting in his palm.

“Mr. Hot Pink Polo, huh?” Link’s innocuous smile was replaced with a slow, sly tick up at one corner of his mouth. He tilted his head a little and stifled a laugh with his eyes sparkling. “Original.”

The earth should have swallowed him whole, Rhett thought. Like just his entire existence disappearing down into the center of the molten core sounded nice at that very moment. “Uh.” And he was eloquent. Lovely.

“I thought frat douche was good, personally. Neal works, but only because it’s my last name. But Mr. Hot Pink Polo is new. Which do you prefer? I’m curious.” Barely contained shit-eating grin. A harsher red on his cheeks; Rhett’s eyes followed the color down to where it disappeared under his shirt collar.

A loaded question, then.

Link was acting like he wasn’t waiting on bated breath, and Rhett could read right through it. The fact that Link was just as nervous meant something. It had to. If anything, it meant that Rhett affected him in some way.

He chased thought after thought and struggled to come up with any ounce of what Link was talking about. He knew he talked to Stevie about the nickname at some point, but never Link. And Link didn’t seem upset by it. Was Link joking with him like this because something funny happened last night?

With the brain fog of a hangover blinding all normal functions, Rhett did the only thing he could—he played along. “I always liked Fangs.” He did, even if it was just a song title, it suited Link’s sharp canines and somehow managed to make his insides all fuzzy.

Proud of the way his voice belied any nerves or confusion, Rhett forced yet another smile onto his face to soften whatever blow shook the happiness off of Link’s face, like he expecting Rhett to say something else. “I mean,” he corrected, tried to correct. God, what did he even say last night? What had he said wrong even a second ago?

It took a beat, but the heavy expression lifted from Link’s face, and he nodded. “I get it. That Link guy can be a bit of jackass. Kind of scum of the earth, right?” Now, his tone was sour and tight like the back of Rhett’s throat. He stretched in an easy-going motion, and Rhett watched confused as Link scooted away from him.

“What?”

He missed the knee digging into his thigh.

The dread had come back full force, as did the nausea.

Link scoffed, but it had no heart. His body lost all rigidity as if someone had flipped a switch and all of the fight left in a rush. “Listen, ‘m sorry if I’ve treated you unkindly. Never meant to hurt you or nothing.” Soft, unsure. Twitching hands and lips thin. “Just not so sure as to how this works.”

The train had officially left the station—and it took all of Rhett’s common sense with him. His hungover brain attempted to connect any dots he was given. Any evidence of a fight or a scrap of conversation would’ve helped, but Rhett refused to ask. And his brain refused to offer up anything.

He squinted at the ground, confused.

The only thing that came to mind was when he caught sight of his socked feet.

A flash of shoes knocking together on the floor and a warmth in his belly popped into Rhett’s head. Link’s beer-warmed face (or was it a blush) as his foot was caught between Rhett’s. Rhett trying to scramble closer to Link only to nearly knock himself out on the floor.

“You’re sorry?” he asked. Did they fight last night after that? Before that?

Link’s shoulders tightened and then slumped, practically radiating discomfort. He wasn’t looking at Rhett anymore, picking at invisible lint on his pants. There was a beat of silent where Rhett simply held his breath.

But then Link huffed, lifted his head to look at Rhett, “I am.” He looked so serious and hopeful all at one. Like he was ready for a fight but didn’t really want one. He was ready for whatever Rhett had to say next, whether it was good or bad.

The intensity of Link’s eyes sent Rhett’s heart into his throat, a blush following in its wake. It bloomed from his chest and he felt hot all over all of a sudden. The cool of the water bottle in his hands covered up the sweat that pooled in his palms. He was starting to understand where this was going—where it could go.

He studied his lap for fear of stuttering while he spoke. “For… Let me get this straight. Not knowing how ‘this’ works. This meaning us or something different?”

Link swallowed. Rhett followed the movement of his Adam’s apple with moderate interest, but stayed quiet.

Rhett gave Link the minute he needed, rolling the water bottle between his palms and pulling his feet up to rest under himself. He tried to ignore the fear that came with the conversation. He didn’t want to have the “it’s-just-messing-around” talk with Link. Not with him, not with someone he could feel himself falling hard and fast for. Who he already fell hard and fast for in all honesty.

He wasn’t sure his heart could take another second of kissing Link and then having it all taken away again. He needed the closure of a clean break or the start of something new. There couldn’t be another party where he was left in the dust while Link ran away or yelled in his face.

“I’m out, but I’m not _out_. I get scared because I live here. The guys—they’re great, but they’re. Well. You know.” Link straightened his shoulders, squinted at the corner of the room. Rhett hoped that it gave him a little bit more confidence. “It’s my fault. I know they’d accept whatever. But growing up like I did, I couldn’t risk it. Not couldn’t. Didn’t want to. Risk it, I mean.”

He looked to Rhett for something, and when Rhett nodded, he continued, “It’s not an excuse. I like you… A whole lot. I don’t want to be scared, and I don’t want to hurt you. So, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. No more Neal or Mr. Hot Pink Polo or frat douche or—” he squinted at Rhett, then, a little laugh, “—fangs?”

“Link.”

“Right.” A pause. “No more games. Or names, okay? I’m Link.” There was a promise in his eyes. “And you can call me on that, okay?”

And who was Rhett to do anything but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this took so long. there's been a lot going on lately ?/ 
> 
> anyways i hope you enjoyed and things are finally looking up!
> 
> come say hi on tumblr as always @buddeysystem


	9. Chapter 9

Rhett never wanted to leave. Not with Link’s knee brushing so nonchalantly against his thigh, laughing at something stupid Rhett said. The sun had come and gone with the day, but the warmth from its rays never left the room they tucked up in.

Outside the room, the house buzzed and Rhett could hear the raucous boys running around downstairs. But in the little cocoon him and Link were in, he didn’t mind the chatter that much. Him and Link had plenty to talk about, and not talk about. They switched between talking for hours at a time and a comfortable silence Rhett hadn’t known other than Stevie.

Hours ago, Rhett managed to steal a (new) toothbrush from the bathroom. This, in hindsight, was his best idea, because Link suddenly turned on his side to face Rhett, his head propped up by an elbow. His hair was falling everywhere, his cheeks stubbly with how they hadn’t left bed all day. If he stayed in place for more than ten minutes at a time, Rhett was convinced that Link would have indents on his cheek from the pillow or the blanket.

Instead, the only lines were from how he was smiling so softly at Rhett. Like he was trying not to. Like he was trying to hide away his happiness to reserve some dignity. Like a puppy decided that the best place to nap was in his lap and his lap only, and he had to hide how excited he was to have a puppy.

It made Rhett’s heart clench so tightly that he almost couldn’t breathe.

He watched Link’s lips when he talked, all animated motion and sharp lines of pillow-y plushness. The sweet mint of his toothpaste tickled Rhett’s nose when he was this close, the breaths puffing a comforting humidity in their shared space.

He must’ve been staring because Link scrunched up his eyebrows and nose, a rough contrast to the goofy, confused grin. “What?” he asked, all lilted flirtation and no venom. Blinking up at Rhett like that, all doe-eyed and relaxed in his skin, Rhett was hit once more with the beauty of the man laying beside him.

The slide of cotton wooshed in the quiet of the room when Rhett sidled up closer to Link and dragged him closer with an arm around his back. Brave, strong, _shaking_ but trying to hide it. On the outside, Rhett hoped he looked calm, but on the inside his heart was thrumming like a humming bird’s wings and his stomach was home to said humming bird. The excitement caught in his throat as he looked down at Link who had set his hand so gingerly on Rhett’s chest.

God, his heart was going to _stop_ if Link didn’t stop looking at him like that. 

The “what?” sounded again—voice all gooey and smooth like honey with a kick of something hot. It was an inquisitive tone too low to be a question; rather, it was a challenge. It took all Rhett had to not lean down and suck Link’s bottom lip into his mouth and bite.

The hand above his heart curled in his tee shirt, a slight jostle in the rhythm. The little tremor he felt through it gave Rhett a little more confidence, and he set his head down closer to Link on the pillow, his forehead resting a few centimeters from Link’s.

_Nothing_ , he wanted to say, to flirt back, but he couldn’t lie like that. He knew exactly what he was thinking and how openly fond his expression was. There was nothing he could hide in that moment anyways. Not with the soft lamp light and the heated wind of the summer drifting into the room through the window. It was too good of a moment to ruin.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. It was barely a breath, easily missed, but Rhett absolutely ached with it. He ached with how easy this all seemed today—how much he wanted to just fall into this headfirst and deal with the concussion later. Because God knew he’d be landing on concrete and not something soft.

And before he knew it, their foreheads rested against each other and Rhett’s hand was holding Link’s cheek like he’d break if he put any more pressure.

He closed his eyes and let himself feel everything wash over him. Link’s skin was blush-hot under his hand and scratchy with the stubble. His breath ghosted over Rhett’s lips and it sent goosebumps down his spine.

Their lips brushed, almost like an accident, and he felt the smile flick up the corners of Link’s mouth. “Really, really beautiful,” he muttered, intent on speaking the words right into Link’s lips. A beat of dead silence had him hesitating and rethinking everything as Link stilled. A panic gurgled up from where Rhett had been keeping it at bay in the very back of his mind. But Link forced himself to relax—a sharp breath sucked through his teeth.

At the intake of breath he felt more than heard, Rhett moved in to finally seal their lips together.

It wasn’t a great kiss, really. It was dry and rough in all of the wrong ways. But with Link laughing in between them and pulling Rhett back in every time he pulled away, he couldn’t stop it. He nudged his nose against Link’s, a smile forcing their lips to part once more.

And even without the slurry of alcohol wreaking havoc on his system, Rhett felt drunk. His head spun, his heart jumped and skipped, his stomach lurched, and his nerves sung. Even with both of their lips chapped and rough, Rhett chased the bubbling laughter escaping between the two of them.

When he opened his eyes, Link’s were staring back at him with a wet glimmer. He looked scared and so very open that everything stopped for a minute. Concern washed over Rhett, and his thumb instinctively worked half-circles at the base of Link’s skull. “Link?”

“Rhett?” His eyes bounced from Rhett’s hairline to his eyes to his lips and back again. Everyone once in a while they would shift to the corner of the room. He chewed his lip so hard that Rhett could feel the sting when he saw the bloodless white of it. Rhett’s shirt tightened across his chest when Link gripped tighter.

Rhett was starting to sweat. His hands felt clammy and he was about to back out of the intimate hold when Link coughed a little to the side. “Can you say that one more time?” His voice caught on one note and held out until the end of it shakily. “I just want to hear it.”

It knocked the breath of out of him. The bravado Link normally had around Rhett was gone—replaced by a timidity and almost insecurity that caught him off guard. Then again, he was normally drunk.

Regardless, he ducked his head until Link would meet his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he said with a finality that shocked even him. “I know it ain’t masculine or whatever, but geez, Link. No other word for it, really.”

An answering whimper sounded, so prettily wrecked.

The kiss that followed winded Rhett: all dark and deep passion that threatened to drown him entirely. He found himself gripping uselessly at the back of Link’s shirt and wrestling with his own body to get closer. And with every inch he gave, Link took two more. They couldn’t get close enough, even with tongues and teeth and exchanges of breath.

“Stay the night,” Link rushed out like his lungs couldn’t take much more. Both of his hands were on Rhett’s chest as it heaved, and he pushed up until he was nearly sitting up on top of him. His soul was borne on his sleeve, exposed and desperate. “Stay, don’t leave. Please.”

Rhett wanted to protest. He wanted to say that he needed a shower and some new clothes to change into and some food, maybe. But looking up at Link so blatantly begging him to stick around, he couldn’t say no. In truth, he didn’t want to leave either. Not with the way his heart was so, so happy and it didn’t want to see a goodbye again.

Even if it went wrong eventually, Rhett figured he deserved a full day of him and Link laying in bed. Even if it didn’t move past anything other than kissing Link stupid.

“One night.”

“One night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm awful at writing often. lots of things happening lately. but i did it!!! yeah!!
> 
> come say hi over on tumblr! @buddeysystem


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